


Pandemonium

by Mother_North



Series: Obscure [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst and Feels, Dark, Guilt, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kink, M/M, Porn With Plot, Psychology, Public Masturbation, Self-Esteem Issues, Smut, Stockings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 06:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14231367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mother_North/pseuds/Mother_North
Summary: Even in the darkest pits of Hell there’s always a hope for a glimpse of Light…A sequel to “Butterfly Caught” in which Yuzuru struggles to survive, battling harsh reality and a sudden onslaught of untimely feelings.





	Pandemonium

**Author's Note:**

> A second installment of the series. Some mentions of blood, self-aggression and implied violence, so be warned. Also, this part turned out to be rather dark, with some disturbing moments, as the titles of both the fic and the whole series infer.  
> Note: I do not advocate or promote any kind of violent or degrading behavior to any extent and it is put into the context of the work for artistic reasons only, the shadier side of this AU needing to be explored.  
> Usual RPF disclaimer applies to this work of fiction in full and it is not meant to offend anyone.  
> P.S. The key to a satisfying writing experience is the right soundtrack.  
> Additional disclaimer:  
> 1\. This work is absolute, total, complete FICTION, where all of the events take place in ALTERNATE universe (not even our beloved one, guys ;)) and in which MAJOR (more like major x 10) OOC is present.  
> 2\. Tags are there for a reason and the story explores dark topics and disturbing situations, sometimes getting pretty nasty…It is YOUR sacred right as a reader not to like it, not to start reading it or to ditch reading it anytime you feel like it and it is MY sacred right as an author not to censure it, not to compromise it and to mold it in whatever way I feel to.  
> 3\. I APOLOGIZE in advance if the “Obscure” series as a whole or this story in particular have somehow upset you!

 

**

_…The empty bodies stand at rest_  
_Casualties of their own flesh_  
_Afflicted by their dispossession_  
_But nobody's ever knew_  
_Nobody's_  
_Nobody's felt like you…_

_Now we drive the night, to the ironies of peace_  
_You can't help deny forever_  
_The tragedies reside in you_  
_The secret sights hide in you_  
_The lonely nights divide you in two, in two, in two_  
_All my blisters now revealed_  
_In the darkness of my dreams_  
_In the spaces in between us_  
_But nobody's ever knew…_

_—The Smashing Pumpkins, “Bodies”_

_**_

Yuzuru woke up well past noon, obnoxious sun reaching towards him through blinds which he had forgotten to drawn fully. He was feeling habitually sore, dull ache in his body after activities of the previous night making him stretch lazily. He stared at the white ceiling above and sighed, willing his body to move, getting out of the bunk into a new bleak day.

It’s been thirty-three days and _he_ hasn’t called. Not a single letter written or a syllable spoken.

Yuzuru huffed bitterly at his own naivete. He did violate several rules, which shouldn’t be broken by no means during that memorable encounter with the Spaniard: he told his true name, he let himself be kissed while responding eagerly and, to top that all, he stayed for the night in his client’s bed.

_Outrageous._

Javier asked for his phone number before parting in the morning and now Yuzuru regretted giving it because he was waiting for a call practically every waking hour. He kept on reminding himself that their respective worlds collided only for that _one_ night _—_ it was pure sex, his body bought and used, no invisible thread remaining between the two of them afterwards. One of his _clients._ Javier left and had, probably, already forgotten about a mere existence of a male prostitute he toyed with.

Nothing special. _He has never been anything special to anyone._

Yuzuru pinched his arm hard, cursing the recurring images, which his brain obligingly supplied: _his_ liquid hazel eyes, _his_ dewy brow furrowed in ecstasy. His skin remembered the touch of _his_ strong arms all too well, unseen prints of his demanding fingers _—_ an obsessive phantom presence still. Yuzuru chased the thoughts away, afraid that everything would end as it did on the previous day’s morning when he pleasured himself in front of a mirror, coming all over his own glassy reflection while _Javier_ was pulsating in each cell of his body, and while _Javi_ was echoing from the walls of his unpretentious dwelling _—_ an empty reverberation which was never supposed to mean _anything_ , in the first place.

Yuzuru poured himself some orange juice and looked around the room he was renting: tidiness, impersonality and plainness eyeing at him from its every corner. Everything in perfect, practically obsessive-compulsive order, yet entirely lifeless.

He often felt _inanimate_ himself, a user-friendly _object_ in a world where money could buy almost everything.

Why was there this treacherous thought at the back of his mind that Javier had been any different, that the way he looked at him was of any significance..? Yuzuru despised himself for behaving like a lost puppy who reached out towards any hand that didn’t hit or shoved him away _—_ an unnecessary weakness which he deemed to be eliminated.

_Impotent hope always hurt the most._

Yuzuru took some leftover pizza from the fridge, starting chewing without enthusiasm. He looked at the money lying on the varnished table surface: several crumpled banknotes to secure his living for a day or two. He was careless, spending the substantial sum Javier had paid him in just two weeks. He paid his rent for a month _—_ _true,_ he bought himself a pair of overly expensive earphones _—_ _false,_ he went to the club to play video games for sixteen hours on end twice _—_ _false,_ he went to a fancy sushi bar to taste some of the best _fugu_ fish, without risking death poisoning _—_ _false_ once again _._

Yuzuru looked at a pair of silvery earbuds lovingly, he decided he loved music too much to regret buying them, his most precious belonging, apart from Winnie-the-Pooh keychain he had had since he remembered himself. There was a time when he even considered having piano lessons, one of the many silly dreams only to be crushed by severe reality.

Yuzuru was just about to finish his frugal breakfast when he heard persistent knocking to the door, subconscious tension straining his posture immediately.

“It’s me _Bo_! C’mon open up, already! I know you are there, Yuzu!”

Yuzuru relaxed visibly. It was just _Boyang_ — his acquaintance and one of his long-term associates, an easy-going, surprisingly smiley, for his _métier_ , young man of Chinese descent. He liked the way his eyes crinkled sunnily and his boisterous laughter, which sometimes used to make Yuzuru’s days seem more tolerable.

Boyang stormed into the room, wearing his casual baggy pants and horizontally striped red and white jumper, his ever present silver _spider_ pendant swaying as he walked into the room, looking rather flurried.

“He is looking for you! He has been looking for you the whole yesterday’s evening, till late night!”

Yuzuru felt a surge of irrational agitation wash over him.

“Who?” His heartbeat was speeding up.

“ _Jacque_ , of course! Who else…” His pulse stammered, chest feeling unpleasantly tight.

Yeah, right.

It was only Jacque-the-pitiful loser, Jacque-the-heinous-slob, Jacque-the-cruel-bully.

_Jacque-the-deserted-for-a-handsome-stranger-in-a-fancy-car._

“Why are you telling me about this moron? I don’t care about him.”

Boyang feigned some righteous indignation on his expressive face.

“I have no doubt you don’t give a flying fuck about his fat ass but there are some _easy_ money involved, you know. I bet he is about to come every single time he simply stares at you…He lasts ten seconds at best and then there are some two hundred bucks in your pocket to spend as you will. Have you seen his face when you suddenly ditched him on that night for that Spanish stallion?! I swear he sobbed like crazy, you have got him totally hooked…”  

“Please shut up, Bo!” Yuzuru looked away, not wanting to continue this repellent conversation about one of his most repulsive clients.

“But, c’mon. Yuzu, maybe, he is really in love with you or something… He is glued to me nightly, scaring away all my clients, howling all the time: “Where’s my Yuzuuu? Where’s my Yuzuuu?” And it is just _hella_ annoying, believe me.”

“Tell him to fuck off.” Yuzuru’s irritation grew stronger with every passing minute.

“Since when have you become so _cruel_? It doesn’t sound like you.” Boyang put his hands across his chest, his eyes squinting suspiciously.

“Are you fucking mocking me? I am not in the mood, Bo. Sorry.”

“Oh, I think I see now… It’s _him_ , right? Ever since you have had that _special_ client, ever since that pompous bastard has fucked you all night long, ever since you fell asleep in his arms… Ever since you can’t stop talking about him for a second.... ”

“I didn’t fall asleep _in_ his arms — only _next_ to him in a shared bed!” Accusatory notes in Boyang’s tone didn’t escape Yuzuru and he felt the need to offer a semblance of excuse. The Chinese didn’t seem convinced in the slightest, though.

“Wait, wait…You think he is going to miraculously appear at your front door and take you away from here in his black shining Porsche? You think he actually cared not only about your spectacular ass but _your true self_? You think you can live your life differently now, gaining significance, after having been fucked by this wealthy dreamboat..? Well, let me enlighten you, please. It’s actually _me_ who cares about you, Yuzu, it’s _me_ who is near when you are sick, it’s _me_ worrying when you are disappearing for days and I have to call a fucking morgue, shaking all over! It’s _always_ me — your pitiful gay-prostitute friend and not some fucking overseas prince, ok?!”

“Stop, please, stop!” Yuzuru balled his fists, Boyang’s words hurting him more than he intended to admit.

“You think you are a beautiful _Cinderella_ or something? I thought only little girls believed in fairy-tails! Though, some men like you to impersonate one, I know you are neither small nor foolish, Yuzu! ”

Yuzuru felt white fury, as he screamed into Boyang’s face, his voice edgy:

“What do you want from me?! Tell me! You want me to crawl back to Jacque and suck his cock, feeling grateful for his two hundred bucks? He is disgusting, he is gross and rude and I hate sensing his greasy fingers and dirty mouth on my skin! I _hate_ him! And…I hate _myself_ too, Bo!”

Angry tears ready to spill were blurring Yuzuru’s vision, Boyang’s concerned face looking to him like a formless whitish spot. The next moment he felt too thin arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders, pulling him into a tight embrace, his initial opposition dissolving into consoling, familiar warmth.

“I just want you _to_ _live_. I love you, Yuzu _._ Always together, remember?” Boyang’s quiet whisper made Yuzuru’s muffled sobs louder.

“Please, look at me. Hush, it’s going to be fine. You are not alone. I am here for you. Just breathe, please…”

Yuzuru looked up to see a bony pinky in front of him. His tear-stricken face lighted up a tiny bit as he interlinked their little fingers together in a well-minded traditional gesture of theirs. He was calming down gradually.

For the next hour or so they were sitting on the shabby couch together drinking bitter tea and talking about everything and nothing, a fragile balance restored. Boyang told him how the local drag queen _Johnny W._ had been taken to the police station the previous night and how Jack-the-hobo had been run over by a car — street life continuing to rear its ugly head, as usual.

Boyang embraced Yuzuru once more, as they were parting, and asked to check his phone at least two times a day from now on. Not that Yuzuru didn’t do it compulsively often, anyways. Boyang just didn’t need to know the _exact_ _reason_ behind him doing it or he would get very upset again.

“Oh, by the way, I have almost forgotten, there is something for you! Here, take it!” Yuzuru saw a pristine white, sealed envelope, knowing full well what it meant without even having to look inside. He gulped.

An impossibly neat lettering on an expensive looking sheet of paper: two numbers, a word and a name.

 _15:00 p.m. Room 303._ _René_

One of his special, perpetual clients with some of his _particular fancies_ needed to be satisfied. Yuzuru had to hurry up, there is no way he could let himself be late to the appointment and he had to do one more thing before stepping into a _de luxe suite_ of one of the most costly hotels in the city, which was known for securing its vip client’s privacy in the strictest of ways — regardless of anything its lodgers were doing behind the closed doors of their personal “ _Eden_ ” with hourly pay.

René was one of his favourite charterers, to tell the truth — a generous and an exceptionally quiet well-mannered man, who never ever _touched_ or wanted _to be touched_ in return. Yuzuru truly valued it.

Slipping on his black jacket and a pair of sneakers, his irreplaceable backpack over his shoulder and the yellow-red keychain Disney bear smiling at him comfortingly, Yuzuru walked out but only after he had double-checked the door lock twice.

**

Yuzuru went to an Asian food eatery, over the corner, to buy some takeout: tasty ramen, onigiri and a portion of freshly-cooked miso soup. He hurried across the street to an old redbrick building, where a certain old man he used to visit twice a week lived. He didn’t really need to pursue such unconditional and absolutely free care for an uncommunicative grey-haired man but he was _Japanese_ too and Yuzuru liked silent camaraderie the two of them shared.

The atmosphere in Akira Kikuchi-san’s small apartment was always balming, reminding him of a home he once had and which was left somewhere far, across the ocean. He cherished the man’s kind smile and his truly knowing dark eyes, which often looked at Yuzuru like he could see through him. He never spoke a single unnecessary word, not a gesture of his felt meaningless to Yuzuru and he rejoiced hearing his leveled speech whenever the old man decided to talk. They used to sit together quietly at the round kitchen table, drinking green _matcha_ tea, each of them dwelling in reflections of his own, words seeming redundant. Sometimes Akira would take Yuzuru’s hand and hold it fondly, his thumb drawing small circles at the back of his hand. They would watch flamboyant TV commercials and talk-shows or some movies, savouring the birdlike language and Yuzuru would feel a pang of homesickness in his swelling chest. It felt like home.

_Almost._

Akira never accepted Yuzuru’s money, no matter how hard Yuzuru asked him to, only shaking his head, while his time-worn face brightened up with an unspoken gratitude. Yuzuru tried to banish loneliness from the old man’s sad eyes as hard as he could.

When Yuzuru came to visit Kikuch-san on that day one of the Japanese movies was playing on TV, a fantasy drama about a man strong and wise enough to battle evil spirits at all plains of existence.

A philosopher, an exorcist, a magician.

_Onmyōji_

Akira Kikuchi-san himself looked like one to Yuzuru: his distant gaze apparently able to percept things a mere mortal couldn’t.

Yuzuru cleaned the dishes and tidied the living-room, preparing to leave, when the old man approached him suddenly, catching his hand in a secure hold. Yuzuru’s back was pressed against the front door as Akira’s keen eyes were looking intently into his confused face, baring his soul, stripping a layer after layer, searching its darkest corners for _something_ Yuzuru didn’t have a clue of.

It lasted no longer than a couple of minutes. Kikuchi-san smiled emphatically at Yuzuru, his wrinkly finger tracing the young man’s pulsepoint absent-mindedly.

He whispered a sole word, his breath tickling Yuzuru’s neck:

“脱出する”  

_Escape._

Yuzuru felt cold shiver run down his spine. He sneaked away, flying back to a busy street outside. He got lost in the multitude of people, wanting to believe badly that Kikuchi’s divination had a right to exist in his suffocative world of a trapped _butterfly_.

**

At five to three Yuzuru was already standing in front of an appointed hotel, gates of _“Eden”_ ready to welcome him.

He knocked thrice at the door with a _303_ on its surface. It wasn’t locked predictably, the shady room with curtains drawn tightly swallowing him up. He saw a solitary, fully-dressed figure of a man with sharp eyes and hawk-like features, sitting in an arm-chair next to a big bed.

 _René_ was already waiting for him.

“Everything you need is in the bathroom. You may proceed, as always.”

Yuzuru knew what was expected of him, their encounters going according to a strictly defined plan, with a set of rules not to be transgressed. Yuzuru had to stay as quiet as possible. He had to keep his mouth shut, not a single question asked or a remark made without René’s proper permission. He had to lay himself completely open before the man’s impassive gaze.

René was even dressed the same as he did each single times of their trysts: an necessarily dark well-cut suit, black gloves and a _mask_ of distant frostiness, which made Yuzuru avoid directly looking into his eyes at all costs. At times, Yuzuru wondered about a life this mysterious man led outside the doors of this hotel room. He noticed a dully gleaming golden wedding-ring at their very first encounter and thought that, maybe, there was a wife and two angel-faced lovely children waiting for René to have a family supper somewhere in a comely house with a merrily crackling fire-place in a prestigious city neighborhood.

The ritual had to be observed, regardless, and René was always generous.

Yuzuru stripped all of his clothing in front of a gilded bathroom mirror, getting ready.

René’s razor-sharp gaze cut through Yuzuru, the moment he saw the boy stepping into the room gingerly. In the subdued yellow lamplight his flawless body seemed to shimmer and his lush lips were covered in pink gloss. Yuzuru was wearing nothing but a pair of black silken stockings, his long slender legs clad beautifully in a thin fabric, the paleness of his skin an exquisite contrast to a dark triangle of neatly trimmed pubic hair above his semi-erect cock.

Yuzuru noticed the way René’s breath hitched in his throat, his elegant fingers clutching the armrests. The sting of arousal settled in Yuzuru’s underbelly as he crawled onto the bed, black sheets smooth against his naked back. René was watching each of his movements with starving eyes, his gaze caressing Yuzuru’s obscenely displayed body. He didn’t look _listless_ for once and Yuzuru understood that these were the moments this weird man was, probably, living for.

Yuzuru closed his eyes and let one of his hands slide down his flat stomach slowly, wrapping his palm around the base of his cock to start stroking himself at a languid pace he knew would get him going. He took his time, fingers teasing the head, his other hand playing with his pert nipples. His young body was responding immediately to the familiar touch of his own nimble arms. Yuzuru had to bite his lower lip, a tremor of potent excitement running through his whole body, as he slipped two of his slicked fingers into the tight ring of muscles. He was very much aware of René’s unwavering stare devouring his naked form, his breathing ragged in the stillness of the room.

Yuzuru snaked his hand under one of the pillows to take out an object he had no doubts was there, waiting for him. It was a specifically crafted _sex_ _toy,_ with absolutely smooth ebony surface. It ended with a round tip and its carefully calculated curvature was designed to literally make its user _fall apart_ from agonizing pleasure.

Yuzuru felt his body going taut from heady anticipation, as he inserted it unhurriedly, all the way up to the hilt, in a single assured motion. A series of heavy pants were escaping his gaping mouth as he started to move it in short rolls, its magical point rubbing straight against his _sweet spot_ , making him writher in ecstasy. He was biting back his choky whines as best as he could, knowing René wanted him to stay _quiet_ , reveling in watching his silent struggle to maintain control, trying to keep the raging pleasure his body was feeling at bay.

Yuzuru was tight as a bowstring, his ivory thighs shivering from strain, long legs in lacy stockings wriggling against the smoothness of the dark sheets. He started fucking himself in earnest, hand with the sex toy moving in and out swiftly, needing his release soon, the force of delight making him gasp desperately, tiny pearls of precum leaking onto his constricting abs.

He imagined _Javier_ watching him instead of René with his intense eyes and the thought alone made him come painfully hard— back arching off the bed beautifully, mouth opened in a silent scream, heart racing in his heaving chest.

Yuzuru was totally wrecked, spasming around the dildo, orgasm crushing him in endless waves. A humiliation of being watched in such a _raw_ and _primal_ state, while being utterly exposed, amplified his rapture in a twisted manner.

He didn’t know how much time had passed before he came back to his senses. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was just a couple of minutes or the whole eternity in which he felt suspended in his disembodying orgasmic experience.

Yuzuru was completely spent, his body filled with echoing hollowness.

When he opened his eyelids again, he saw René standing over him, looking down with abysmal and impenetrable eyes of his. The man’s cheeks were unmistakably flushed and he brushed his gloved fingertips over Yuzuru’s overly sensitized stomach to capture some of his spilt essence. He brought them to Yuzuru’s mouth, smearing some of it over his pinky lips, making him taste _himself_ — a deranged image of sperm over the lip gloss causing a visible shudder rush through him.

“ _You were divine today.”_

René disappeared after leaving several extra banknotes on the bedside table.

**

Yuzuru went to a lake in a local park, as the dusk started to descend upon the city, participants of night life slowly creeping out of their lairs into the twilight. He sat down on his favourite bench and stared at the setting sun blankly, its last rays caressing his skin, making it tinted with orange effulgence. He caught himself wondering how much time it was in Spain and what Javier was doing at the moment. Yuzuru’s thoughts were trailing back to the Spaniard and he checked his mobile.

_Nothing._

He put it into his backpack, a heavy sigh escaping him — useless waiting for an improbable call from a complete stranger. Yuzuru congratulated himself with hitting the new high end of low.

He didn’t feel like walking the streets tonight, everything he wanted was to get back home and curl in his bed, warm blanket draping him with insufficient warmth. Yuzuru wanted to lose himself to sleepy unconsciousness so that pesky thoughts would stop running amok inside his pounding head.  

He came here in hope of seeing a pair of white _swans_ which used to appear at the lakeside sometimes, inborn gracefulness and beauty of the regal birds entrancing him… But they were nowhere to be seen on that day — only vast expanse of waters plashing softly against the shore.

_No luck._

It was almost completely dark when Yuzuru rose to his feet to make his way home, his stiffened limbs complaining. Eerie solitude of the place started to make him feel uncomfortable as cold night air was seeping to his bones. He intended to get to the subway station as quick as possible, walking rapidly down the deserted park alley.

Yuzuru nearly jumped when he felt a sudden strong grip on his upper arm, steel-like fingers clutching him with bruising force. He raised his eyes to see a tall, lean man towering above him: dingy eyes, a thin line of cruel lips and a raptorial smirk. Yuzuru knew not the man’s name but everyone in this part of the city knew his _nickname_ very well.

_The Catcher._

He was a particularly nasty cop, who acted like a man on a mission when the case of morality was involved. He considered himself being the chosen one to fight the threatening growth of harlotry, like a paladin blessed in his crusade against all things he labeled _filthy_ and _unworthy_. The Catcher was far from being saint, though. Everyone knew he was quite a pervert with some badly-concealed sadistic inclinations.  

“Going somewhere, _pretty boy_?”

His lisping speech was dripping honey and Yuzuru felt a surge of unconditional fear unfurl inside of him.

“I know all of your doings, young man —your reputation preceding you. They say you are marvelous at sucking cocks and I can definitely state that such gorgeous lips as yours were simply made for giving blowjobs, don’t you think, huh? ”

The man tried to trace Yuzuru’s lips with his finger but Yuzuru turned away abruptly.

“Let me go, you have nothing on me.”

The Catcher’s grin grew wider.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…You are terribly wrong, my little beauty. I can take you to the police station right now and lock you up in there for a month and a half or longer, organizing a nightly _gangbang_ as a pleasurable bonus to your prolonged stay in there. Handcuffs and stuff. What will you say about such a prospect? Are you already hard?”

Yuzuru tried to yank his arm away with all of his might. He didn’t let fear show in his eyes which were blazing defiantly.

“I said _let me go_.”

“What a rebellious boy we have in here, just look at you… But you are very lucky because I am in a really good mood today and I have a proposition! You go with me now, doing what I want and then I let you go freely, ok? See how kind I am! ”

“You are going to get yourself into a big trouble if you harm me because I have some powerful patrons and I can make _a call_ and you’ll regret the day you were born…”

Yuzuru’s menacing tirade was cut short by the older man’s amused laughter.

“You are so funny when you are bluffing so shamelessly.”

Yuzuru imagined _Javier_ cracking the Catcher’s skull open or punching him in the guts repeatedly. It was a comforting, yet pointless mental image. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against the man, and the probability of being charged of an assault against a police officer was making it even worse.

“Fine.” The haughty tilt of Yuzuru’s head made the uniformed man’s eyes gleam dangerously.

“Now, that’s better. Come with me, sweetie.”

**

Yuzuru was sitting in a nearly empty subway car, his earbuds in, yet it seemed that he was listening to silence instead of music — unperceptive to the surrounding world. He stared at the darkness behind a transparent window glass and it stared right back at him. He bet he looked _miserable_ , his black jeans ruined — stains from kneeling on the muddy grass serving as a mute testimony to his humiliation; his hair disheveled and his abused mouth swollen.

Yuzuru licked his split lower lip, tasting the bitterness of copper on his tongue, blood refusing to coagulate.   

An elderly lady who was shooting disquieted glances at Yuzuru constantly, finally decided to make a move, taking a vacant seat opposite of him. She fished a round crispy cookie outside of her bag and stretched it out to him without speaking a single word.

Yuzuru blinked a couple of times, looking at the piece of pastry, everything inside of him going numb. He wanted to cry but his red-rimmed eyes were dry, all tears gone by then. He managed to croak a barely distinguishable _thank you_ from the depth of his aching throat and took the cookie with his trembling fingers.

The old lady smiled at him kindly and Yuzuru felt like _disintegrating_ then and there, her sincere manifestation of _human_ kindness making him feel _defiled_ and _corrupted_ , the gesture stabbing him with its _pureness_.

**

Yuzuru rushed to the bathroom as soon as he crossed the threshold of his apartment, a wave of sickness making him suffocate. He was throwing up with air mostly — spasms of his practically empty stomach unceasing, the cause of his nausea lying in the realm of emotional trauma and anguish.

_Disgusting._

_Wings torn._

_An exquisite, fragile butterfly bleeding inside its cocoon. Unborn._

Yuzuru looked into the mirror at his own reflection, feeling drained. His inflamed obscure eyes with a feverish glint, his scarlet quivering lips, his deathly pale cheeks, his refined facial features sharpened from turmoil...

_An apparition._

He wouldn’t mind getting rid of his body of flesh for real.

Yuzuru was feeling insidious self-pity seizing him all over again.

He punched the mirror hard, a glassy surface cracking and his knuckles painting red — physical pain shaking his inner stupor away. He hated feeling helpless, he despised his own weaknesses.

Yuzuru remembered Boyang’s desperate plea _to_ _live_ and Kikuchi-san’s spell urging him to keep on struggling, to keep on beating his tattered wings to find a way out of this accursed nettle.

**

Yuzuru got into bed after balling in a shower for an hour or so. The sheets were cold and oppressing sense of solitude was lying next to him as he wrapped his slender arms around himself, trying to get warm. His body was trembling from exertion.

At a quarter past midnight he heard his cell phone vibrating. He looked at an unidentified number on the screen, deciding to answer the call, after all.

Someone seemed to want him badly.

“Hi, it’s _Javier_! Do you remember me? It’s been more than a month, I know. I just wanted to ask if you’d be free on the seventeenth. I‘ll be in town again and… I don’t know… ”

A momentarily sigh and a pause during which Yuzuru forgot how to breathe.

“Maybe, we could meet if you don’t mind. I am calling from my private number, you can save it. Why are you so silent..? You don’t want to..? You don’t want to see me?”

Yuzuru jolted as if he was snapped out of a reverie.

“ _Hai_ …No… I mean yes... _Yes_. Want to see.”

Javier chuckled at the other end of the line.

“Ok, then. Sleep well, _mi mariposa_.*”

The ultimate softness of his voice made Yuzuru’s eyes sting.

He shed tears of relief, sobbing into his pillow inaudibly and then, as he was already falling asleep, staring at the ceiling above, he thought he saw _stars_ for the briefest of moments shining through the impenetrable concrete whiteness.  

**

*Mi mariposa — My butterfly (Span.)

**Author's Note:**

> It’s always darkest right before the dawn.  
> Thank you for reading, all of your feedback is appreciated.


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